


winning

by waldorph



Series: 2012-2013 Winter Anthology [9]
Category: Legend of the Seeker
Genre: Blanket Permission, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-03
Updated: 2013-02-03
Packaged: 2017-11-28 03:18:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,883
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/669672
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/waldorph/pseuds/waldorph
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is for tumbling_up who wanted a dark pwp. I mean, for this fandom, is there any other kind?</p>
            </blockquote>





	winning

**Author's Note:**

> Please heed all warnings. This is not a nice fic told from the POV of a character who is fully aware of his actions.

He grips him tightly. 

It's so easy, now. He's dazed and confused, slipping in and out of the spells that keep him relatively docile (not entirely, because where's the fun in that?). His arms are bound tightly behind his back, and the hooked plug keeping Richard open is tightly knotted to the bindings on his arms--he is terribly pretty with his back arched like that, displaying himself whether he wants to or not.

Darken has this strange suspicion that if anyone were inclined to ask Richard he'd come down on the side of 'not,' which is exquisite in its own right. It's delicious, the way that Richard won't break. Not that Darken is trying too hard. It worries his Mord'Sith, he knows. They think he's too frivolous with an enemy who has proven to be so dangerous, but really where is the fun in playing with something broken? The breaking is intensely pleasurable--the begging, desperate pleas. The flushed skin and the ripple of muscle under skin, slick red lines over worried flesh, all of culminating in whimpering, absolute subservience. 

But he has his Mord'Sith for protection an armies of men who believe he is all that stands between them and death, so what function, then, would Richard fulfill? Darken has no need for a bodyguard, nor any need for a willing hole.

No. Not a _willing_ hole. 

Richard can't quite talk around the gag, a bit of rope cutting into his lips. Not practical, but a nice reminder that no one cares to hear anything Richard thinks he might need to say. Not that Darken thinks Richard could find the words, but Richard _has_ always exceeded expectations. 

There's a fine sheen of sweat making him glisten, and he's breathing hard, eyes searching, unseeing. It's not permanent, the blindness. Where would be the fun in that? In not being able to see every last reaction as Richard is forced to watch Darken take him. Darken has an entire room made of mirrors for just that reason. Mirrors are wonderful things

But tonight isn't about watching Richard's eyes skitter, trying not to see what's before him. Tonight is about about Darken taking his pleasure. Taking what's his, what he fought for: what he's owed for all the inconvenience The Seeker has caused him. Really, it's only fair that Richard spread his legs and whore himself to The Lord Rahl. All things in balance, and Darken won. He gets to enjoy his spoils.

Richard is kneeling on the bed--placed there and undoubtedly too unsure of his balance to try to move. Not that he could go far, not with the collar and the chain attached to the wall. It doesn't do much, but Darken has always found that the rattle of a chain reinforces a captive's circumstances upon them better than any other sensory input can. 

Almost any other. 

Semantics. 

Richard makes a noise, somewhere between interrogative and desperate. It's lovely, should be distilled and sold. It would calm anyone, to hear that sound. 

Darken makes no response. Richard is trussed up, drugged, and blind, and one should always appreciate one's fortunes. He slides a hand up Richard's stomach, scratching his fingernails along the ridges of abdominal muscle, pressing between ribs and leaving raised welts behind. His other hand he braces on Richard's sternum, thumb extended away from his fingers, a hint that while Richard breathes freely now, that can change. All of this can change, the only thing that doesn't is that he is Darken's to use as he will. 

Richard's cock is soft, possibly the only part of him that is, and Darken smears his hand through the drool on Richard's chin and uses it as slick. Richard bucks away, writhing, but he can't hunch the way he wants to, not without tearing at his asshole. The hook, though not pointed, curves sharply within him. 

"it seems cruel not to give you any pleasure," Darken murmurs, watching the muscle in Richard's jaw clench. He pumps Richard ruthlessly, caresses his balls, and Darken has found that bodies exposed only to pain for long periods of time react most beautifully when pleasure is pure, and unmarred. 

Richard is whining, whimpering, some bastardization of _No, please, no, no, don't, no_ filling the room. 

It isn't long before Richard is coming, and if not for the hold Darken has on his collar, he would have fallen over, screaming his pleasure, his defeat.

"There, isn't that better?" Darken asks, soothing, scooping up the come on Richard's stomach, his chest, and feeding it to him through the gag. "Here." He unties the rope connecting the plug and slides it out, and Richard straightens, rolls his shoulders with a popping sound. "I'm not as cruel as you make me seem," Darken murmurs. "I wish you wouldn't make me hurt you so. We could have such fun, you and I."

Richard makes a wounded, horrified noise, and Darken smiles at him, presses a kiss to lips pulled tight against the gag. 

"Don't you love me, brother?" he asks, mocking, and Richard stares at him before dropping his eyes. Not yet, but eventually there will be a hesitant nod after Darken asks that, and then perhaps--perhaps he could take him as a consort. The future is wide open with possibility. 

He guides Richard down, head flat on the bed, though he does give him a pillow, and settles on the bed behind him, shrugging out of his own robe, idly stroking his cock. He's almost painfully hard, but who wouldn't be, looking at Richard like this? His ass in the air, hole red and raw-looking, gaping open, shiny and slick still from the last time Darken fucked him. Darken smiles, drags a fingernail around the rim to hear the muffled, cut-off inhale, the sound of pain Richard can't quite smother into the pillow.

"You are very beautiful like this," Darken tells him, pressing two fingers inside. "Still wet with my come and open, waiting for more like the whore you are. What would Zeddicus say, if he could see how hungrily your hole grips at my fingers? So hungry for anything to fill it."

Richard's shoulders wrench, and though there's nowhere to go even if he were to escape Darken's hold, he still tries. 

"Shhh, now. Don't fret, I'm going to take care of you," Darken tells him as Richard undoubtedly curses him, though it's all gibberish. 

He lines up and shoves in all at once, one hand at Richard's hip and the other in the collar, anticipating the way Richard is going to buck back against him, wrench and try to escape. 

"Hush, now," Darken soothes him, fucking in and out, brutal, long strokes. He drags the head of his cock against Richard's prostate and Richard sobs. Darken wonders what it is that's making him sob: that he wants it? Or that it's happening at all?

He shifts his stance a little and hauls on the collar, pulling Richard so that they're front to back, most of Richard's weight resting on Darken, Richard's head falling back on Darken's shoulder. Darken presses hot kisses to the side of his face, sucks on his ear. "You are exquisite," he tells him. "Made to be fucked and kept."

He has one hand wrapped around Richard's neck, a gentle reminder, and the other he uses to fondle Richard's balls, his oversensitized but half-hard dick. Richard whimpers, chokes at the touch. 

"Oh, is this too soon?" Darken asks, biting down on Richard's neck. "I think you'll come for me again, don't you?"

Richard is shaking his head, trembling now, and the angle isn't ideal, but the strain on Richard's body makes him clench deliciously down around Darken, holding him like a vise and fluttering. It's all a natural talent, no whore house in the Midlands could teach skill like this. 

"Be my good boy," Darken says against Richard's neck, tightening the hand around Richard's neck. "Come for me." 

Richard is hard, but he's still twitching, hips restlessly trying to get away from Darken's hand or his dick, and Darken smiles. It must be wretched, tormenting, this constant assault on the senses. He tightens his hand around Richard's throat: really it's a kindness. He's just giving him something else to think about. Oxygen deprivation tends to take precedence. 

That it has the added benefit of making Richard's whole body tense is wondrous. He's damp with sweat, now, gasping for breath, fingers clenching helplessly, pressing against Darken's ribs. Someday Darken will do this without Richard's hands bound behind his back, but even his arrogance has its bounds.

"Don't you want to be good for me?" Darken murmurs. "I know you can do so well. Come for me and I'll fill you up. 

His muscles are starting to tire, straining to fuck into Richard and to support both of them, but it's a good burn. Sweet, like holding an agiel as someone breaks under its power. 

"Someday," he says, "you'll do this without me telling you to. I won't have to tie your arms behind you, won't have to collar you, coax you into accepting what a whore you are. What a slut you are for my dick. Someday you'll beg me to take you, spread your legs when I walk into a room. You'll spend so much time on your knees you'll forget how to stand. And the best part of it will be that you'll be happy. Grateful to me for showing you the truth, for taking away all of these terrible stresses and burdens. I've made everything so…simple for you. Now, don't you want to show me how grateful you are?" He punctuates it by tightening the hand around Richard's throat, cutting off his air supply entirely. 

Richard wails--there's no other word for it--and it's beautiful, like glass shattering. He clenches down on Darken, the involuntary jerking of his hips forcing Darken even deeper into him as he comes, pathetic little drools of come. 

"Good boy," Darken murmurs, and unclenches his hand. Richard is swaying, sagging, and Darken guides him down--careful with his things, and such obedience should be rewarded. Richard sprawls out, and takes it as Darken fucks down into him, deep and brutal, driven by the need to fill him, mark him. It doesn't take long, but then, once he's gotten what he wants, it never does.

"You were made for this," Darken murmurs when he can speak, running a soothing hand along Richard's side. He lifts the blinding spell, and undoes the rope gag. He presses a gentle, slick kiss to Richard's slack lips, reveling in the fact that Richard is letting him. It won't last, this moment of tranquility, but Darken doesn't want it to. Not yet. "So open and sloppy for me, all used up with come spilling out of you. I should plug you up, make you keep it. You'd like that, wouldn't you?" 

Richard whimpers, but that's not a no, and Darken kisses him again, a reward for being so exquisitely perfect. He slides two fingers into Richard's loose hole, scooping out his come, and Richard takes it between his lips, swallows it down like a good whore. Darken laughs and kisses him again. Right now he's enjoying himself quite a lot.

**Author's Note:**

> sorry not sorry :D
> 
>  **Blanket Permission:** go ahead and translate, make podfic, rework the fic, or do whatever other transformative work you can think of. If the work is hosted on another site, drop me a comment or email and I'll put a link in the story notes!
> 
> [twitter:](https://twitter.com/waldorph) for unfiltered me || [tumblr:](http://waldorph.tumblr.com/) less about me, more about the pretty gifsets and art


End file.
